Stray
by DoeEyedDarling
Summary: Winston isn't Will's only discovery that night - he also picks up a wreck of a girl with frightened eyes, no voice, and no history. Fragile and family-less, Will and Hannibal take her under their wing. But, unfortunately for her, the two men are about to engage in a deadly battle - and every war has casualties. REPOST - took this down earlier this year by mistake :(
1. Chapter 1

He would never have noticed her, her slim frame silhouetted against the woods, if it weren't for her eyes. Wide, dark, and frightened, they reflected the headlights, catching his attention, driving him to pull over and step into the road. As he rounded the car, his eyes travelled down her body, taking in the way her thin, tattered clothes hung off her, the way the bruises and cuts decorating her skin were accentuated by the shadows of the trees. She stared at him like a deer in headlights, frozen in terror.

"Are you okay?" His voice was slightly raspy, but comforting all the same. He held out his hand slowly, gently, as though approaching a wounded animal, stopping when she began to back away.

With the closer proximity, he could see that she was trembling. Whether it was from fear or the cold, he was unsure, but either way, he was determined to get the girl into the car. If he called Jack, odds were she'd bolt, and he didn't want to take that chance. "My name is Will. Will Graham." She nodded slowly, silently. "You can't talk?" She shook her head. He misinterpreted the action as a confirmation of her inability to speak, and she let him. In reality, she could talk perfectly well - she just didn't want to.

She hadn't made a run for it yet, a reassuring sign. He took a tentative step forward, and then another when she didn't move, his hand still extended. After what felt like an eternity, she stepped forward and placed her hand in his, still shaking, and he let out a sigh of relief. "I, uh, hope you're not afraid of dogs," he said sheepishly, opening the door to the passenger seat and helping her in. She shook her head again, her lips curling up slightly as she caught a glimpse of the mutt in the backseat. She reached back, and, after sniffing her hand uncertainly, the dog rubbed his head against her affectionately. Will smiled at the exchange. "He likes you."

As they drove, she analyzed his appearance, from the unruly curls to the thick, black framed glasses. Ultimately, his eyes were what had led her to trust him. In them, she saw that he understood her pain, the sleepless nights and dull, fear-filled days. He knew it all, and that was, in a strange way, comforting to her.

She was surprised, but relieved, when they pulled up in front of a house instead of a hospital. It was small and safe-looking, the brightly lit porch as promising as a lighthouse to a sailor on a stormy night. When they entered, they were greeted by a cacophony of barks and yaps as the dogs swarmed around them. Will guided her through the canine crowd to the bathroom, and left her there, providing her with a couple of towels and some oversized clothes, before heading back to the truck to take care of the new stray.


	2. Chapter 2

When he got in from the porch, Will found her on the couch, asleep, damp hair soaking the fabric of the shirt she was wearing. He knew he should call Jack, or at the very least wake her up and try to find out more about her - her name, for instance, or how she'd ended up on the edge of the highway alone and covered in bruises - but she just looked so damn _peaceful._ Will knew better than anyone how rare a good night's sleep was for someone plagued by bad dreams - he had no business taking sleep away from anyone else. Besides, he had a feeling that this woman had already seen her fair share of nightmares.

He'd only been asleep himself for an hour or so when he heard the scream. Bolting down the stairs, he looked across the sea of sleeping dogs to see her thrashing on the couch, moaning and crying in distress, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was a miracle she hadn't fallen off yet.

"No, please. _Please."_

Upon hearing the last word, Will started across the living room, intending to wake her up, but someone else reached her first. Winston, woken by the sound of his new owner's footsteps on the stairs, had wandered over and nuzzled the girl's outstretched hand, an echo of their encounter in the car, before jumping up to lie next to her. In her sleep, she wrapped an arm around the dog protectively, quieting down so that the only noises to be heard now were her snores.

 _So she_ can _speak._

He hesitated, peeking at his watch. _Is it worth it to wake her up now to get her to talk?_ He looked back at her. Winston, as though sensing the glance, raised his head to stare back at Will, his eyes dark and solemn above the woman's sleeping figure.

 _Don't you dare,_ he seemed to be saying. _Let her rest, at least for now._

Will paused once more before turning back to the stairs. Any questions he had to his mystery guest could wait until morning.

* * *

"Jane Doe, estimated age mid to late twenties. Multiple cuts and bruises, broken rib, must have punctured her lung."

As he listened to the medical report, Will felt himself go numb.

 _He'd come down that morning and seen her on the couch, the golden haired dog still curled up beside her._

"...may be infected…"

 _He touched her shoulder, trying to wake her up. It was then he noticed that she'd stopped breathing._

"...standard procedure, no more than an hour…"

 _Will didn't realize that Winston had followed them into the car until the hospital receptionist raised an eyebrow and informed him that dogs weren't allowed._

"...now?"

Will blinked a few times, returning to reality, and saw the doctor staring at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Would you like to see her now? Before she's admitted to surgery."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

She was asleep when he went in, her hair lanky and thin against the pillow. The harsh lighting of the hospital did not suit her - under it, her skin took on a bluish tint, and the bruises stood out against it magnificently. If it weren't for the steady beep of the monitor next to her, Will might have thought her dead, just another corpse, just another victim.

 _But whose victim?_

For reasons he could not understand, Will could not reconstruct the events that had led up to him finding her. Obviously she had been attacked, and traumatized, in some way, but he had no idea who attacked her, or why, or where, or when. Perhaps it was the fact that she was, despite her appearance, still alive.

"E-excuse me, sir?" Will jumped, turning around to see a nurse standing in the doorway, nervously glancing around the room. "I-I'm sorry to interrupt y-you, but you can't be present for the s-surgery."

"Of course." Will left the room, unsure of where to go next. According to the first doctor, he had about an hour before the surgery was over, and longer than that before the girl would be in any condition for him to question her.

He did not expect to end up, of all places, at Hannibal Lecter's front door.

* * *

"Will." The doctor looked unsurprised. 'Please, come in. And who is this?"

Will looked down, realizing he'd forgotten to drop Winston back at the house. "I'm sorry, I meant to leave him at home, I just…" He trailed off, looking as lost as he felt.

"No need to apologize. Is it about Abigail Hobbs?" As the two men sat down at the kitchen table, Winston curled up by Will's feet.

"No, actually, it's uh...it's complicated."

When Will finished explaining the situation, Hannibal leaned back, his expression betraying no emotion. "And you haven't told Jack?"

"No, not yet."

"Why not?"

Will paused, considering. "He'd expect me to have...answers. To be able to figure out some part of what happened to her."

"And you can't do that?"

"No, I - she's not like any other victim I've had to - had to reconstruct the death of. She's alive, very, very much alive."

"Yet you've had nightmares about killing Abigail the way her father tried to."

"Yes, but…" Will ran a hand through his hair, agitated, trying to come up with a viable explanation. "I was there. I saw Garrett Jacob Hobbs, I saw what he tried to do to Abigail. If I hadn't…"

"She'd be dead," Hannibal finished. "In that way, Abigail Hobbs and your Jane Doe are very much alike. Were it not for your interference, they would both most likely be dead."

"I know. But with my...my _Jane Doe_ , I didn't see anything except for her. I didn't see where she was, where she came from, who put her in the condition she is now. With Abigail Hobbs, I can see everything, it's just extremely hard to watch, knowing that she didn't die."

"I see." Hannibal's gaze flickered back to Winston. "So, what are you going to do now?"

Will glanced at his watch. "I should get back to the hospital." He stood up and walked to the door, Winston at his heels.

"May I come with you?"


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she'd first showed up. Will finally told Jack, and they took DNA samples, ran her fingerprints, checked for any missing person reports that matched her description.

Nothing.

She still refused to speak, her silence eating away at the hours as Will and Hannibal came to her bedside again and again, trying to engage her in conversation. Some days they were able to make eye contact with her, but when they pushed too hard, asking yes and no questions in hopes of receiving a nod or shake of the head, something inside her seemed to snapped. She'd ignore them, her gaze fixed on some unknown point in the distance, tears rolling down the curve of her cheek.

When at last she was released, Will insisted on taking her home with him. There was something he wanted to try, something Hannibal had pointed out - the woman's connection to Winston. She seemed to feel a sort of kinship with the dog, bound by the knowledge that they were both alone, two strays trying to make it in an unforgiving world.

Sure enough, her face lit up at the sight of the golden-furred mutt. Her hair, which had grown and inch or two in the past few weeks and now just passed the tops of her shoulders, had acquired a healthy shine, and her skin had lost it's clammy grey sheen. With the light from the early morning sun streaming in behind her, as she crouched on the floor to comb her fingers through Winton's coat, she looked much, much better than she had that first night. _Pretty, even._

"Hey."

She looked up, surprised, one hand still stroking Winston's back. She did the action naturally, unthinkingly, it seemed.

Will tried to offer a supportive smile. _Knowing me, it probably came off as more of a grimace._ She smiled back, though, her shyness emphasized by the way she didn't push her hair out of her eyes, the way she quickly turned back to face the dog. Will knew how she felt. With dogs, you knew where you stood - they never judged, never hated, never worried about anything but their next meal. Humans were much trickier. It was very easy to make a wrong move, far, far too easy.

Now, he just had to figure out what the right move would be.


	4. Chapter 4

"How is your guest?" Hannibal leaned back slightly as he waited for Will to answer.

"She's happier, for the most part. I think the nightmares are stopping. It's just, she won't _talk._ Nothing I do, _nothing_ I say is getting her to respond."

"How does that make you feel?"

Will eyed the doctor warily. "Careful, Dr. Lecter, or I might think you're trying to psychoanalyze me."

His lips twitched ever so slightly, as though, for a moment, he remembered how to smile. "I was completely honest with you that first meeting, Will. I am an observer by both by profession and by nature; I cannot turn it off any more than you can."

Will was silent for a moment. When at last he spoke again, his voice was quiet, somber. "They're increasing. Every night, now."

"Your nightmares." It was not a question.

"I used to be able to...not turn it off, exactly, but control it, to an extent."

"You decreased your interactions with other people. The farm, the teaching position, your avoidance of eye contact."

Will nodded. "Exactly. But now, with everything Jack...everything I'm seeing, it's harder to control."

"You resent Jack for forcing you back into the field."

"I wasn't forced." Even before the words left his mouth, Will could taste the doubt in them.

"Coerced, then."

"I agreed to work with Jack. I let him borrow my imagination. He gave me an opportunity to stop, I refused it, there's nothing more to be said."

Hannibal looked for a moment as though he would press the subject further, but quickly thought better of it. "So, this Jane Doe. I would very much like to meet her again." Hannibal noticed the way Will tightened his jaw, smelled his tension. _So he is beginning to care for this woman._

 _Interesting._

"I'm not so sure that would be a good idea."

"Oh?"

Will went on, not noticing the subtle note of annoyance that entered the other man's tone. "She didn't respond favorably to the hospital workers, and she's still timid around me. She needs more time to adjust before being exposed to new environments."

"You sound like Alana Bloom."

Will's lip quirked up in a crooked smile. "Maybe. I'm just not sure if she's ready to handle so much at once."

"You can bring her during your next session. You'd be here with her, and if she grows uncomfortable in any way, you can both leave." Hannibal gazed at Will steadily, waiting for his consent.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

"I see you've brought a guest."

Hannibal offered a friendly smile to the frightened girl. She peeked out over Will's shoulder, unresponding, following Will as he entered the office. She flinched at the sound of the door shutting, hesitated before sitting on the chaise-lounge. She didn't lean all the way back, perching herself on the edge of the cushion, keeping her gaze on the floor, her left hand reaching to stroke Winston. She had refused to leave the house without the dog, pleading with her eyes until finally Will gave in. If Hannibal was surprised by Winston's presence, he didn't let it show.

"This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter," Will began. "He came to visit you at the hospital, remember?" The woman nodded.

"And your name is?"

Silence.

"Would you like something to write on?"

Silence.

He fetched a notebook and pen from his desk, then walked over and placed it in her lap. Will merely watched from his spot by the door.

"You do not have to speak, if that is what you wish," Hannibal said gently. "But it would be beneficial to everyone if you would tell us your name."

Still no response.

Hannibal sat down beside her, with Winston in between them. "All right, then. Can you write?"

For a long, long moment, the girl refused to look up. Then, just as Will was about to suggest they return home, something miraculous happened.

She picked up the pen and began to write.

 _ **Yes**_

One word. That was all.

But it was a lot better than nothing.

"How old are you?"

 _ **27.**_

Will stared incredulously. _Why didn't I think of having her write?_

"You are uncomfortable telling us your name, but could you give us a name to call you by, at least? A nickname, perhaps, or just your first name?"

She hesitated, her gaze flickering from the pen, to Hannibal, to the dog, to Will, and to the pen again. Finally, she touched the tip of the pen to the paper again.

 _ **Charissa. My name is Charissa.**_

She held up the notebook so that both men could see. Will nodded as he crossed the room, crouching in front of the chaise, trying to hide his disbelief. "That's a beautiful name. Charissa."

 _ **The Ch is silent. Carissa.**_

"Oh. Sorry."

 _ **It's ok**_

"Charissa, a Greek name meaning 'grace,'" Hannibal commented. She looked up, and was startled by his eyes - they seemed to bore into her, each iris, an unusual maroon color, interrupted by a dot of bright red where they reflected the light. While Will's gaze was gentle, Hannibal's was...hungry. There was something about him, though, that she couldn't help but trust.

He, too, was fascinated by her eyes: they were so trusting, he mused, so open and naive. She untainted, a moldable piece of clay, innocent and breakable and utterly corruptible.

In other words, the perfect victim.


	5. Chapter 5

She stopped writing, ignoring his questions once more. Still, they'd already found out more about her than they had in the past three weeks combined, thanks to the efforts of the good doctor. Despite Will's initial reservations, he realized on the drive home, he was beginning to trust the doctor more and more.

It was pouring by the time they reached the house, and Winston's eagerness to get out of the rain, combined with a conveniently located puddle, led to Charissa being spattered with mud as the dog bolted for the door. Will washed and towel-dried Winston with care, chuckling when the dog shook off the excess water before running toward the living room. The woman was upstairs, rinsing the mud from her skin. _No, not "the woman." She has a name now._

 _Charissa._

It was strange, linking a name to a face he'd previously labelled "her." She was quiet, unobtrusive, the faint scent of flowers on a summer breeze. "Charissa" seemed so extravagant, too gaudy a name for someone so...delicate.

A gurgling noise sounded above his head, causing him to look up. _She must be finished with her shower. I should get food._

 _Right._

His cooking was nowhere as fine as Hannibal's, but he did what he could. He had two fish covered in breadcrumbs and in the frying pan when he heard her soft, timid footsteps behind him. As he turned around to greet her, he heard the sound of carpet sliding against wood, followed by a little squeak, and before he really knew what was happening, she was in his arms.

It took a moment for him to process what had just occurred. Through the shirt she was using for pajamas, he could feel her shoulder blades, sharp and smooth, along with the gentle curve of her waist below. Her wet hair was plastered to her back, and she stared up at him in shock, her fingers curled against his chest. She felt as frail as she looked, and for a moment Will wanted nothing more than to protect her, to hold her and shield her from the horrors of the world. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he lowered his head to hers...

As quickly as it began, the spell was broken by the chiming of the clock. Will let go of her slowly, making sure she'd fully regained her balance, and looked away.

"Sorry."

Instead of answering, she, too, turned away, straightening the rug before exiting the kitchen, leaving Will with a pan full of fish and a single thought.

 _What if?_


	6. Chapter 6

Will was awakened by a loud thump in the early hours of the morning, and walked down the stairs to find her crumpled on the floor next to the couch. For one heart-stopping moment, he thought she was hurt, but a quick check proved her pulse to be steady, as was her breathing.

 _What do I do now?_

He could lift her back to the couch, but it was entirely possible that she would fall off again.

 _Better to give her the bed, and I'll stay down here._

When he scooped her up, he was surprised by how cold she was. Without realizing it, he tightened his hold on her slightly, hugging her to his chest, trying to return some warmth to her fragile little body. Even in the darkness, he could see that the bruises on her neck and arms were still fading; almost gone, but not quite. Funny, they seemed to stand out more at night than during the day. Every time he noticed them, he felt a tightening feeling in his chest, a spark of anger at whoever was responsible for hurting her like that.

He had tucked her in and had headed downstairs to find extra blankets - even through the sheets, he could see her shivering - when he heard the noises. Little scratching noises, like those of a rat or a raccoon, coming from the direction of the chimney. Forgetting about Charissa, still asleep, he fetched a hammer. Within the next half an hour, he'd broken a pretty good hole in the wall, but no animal.

"What kind of animal was it?"

Of course, Alana Bloom _would_ show up at that particular moment.

It wasn't that Will wasn't happy to see her, but he had enough to worry about himself without dragging Alana into it. And Alana wouldn't hesitate to worry about Will, no doubt. It was just a part of who she was: warm, kind-hearted, with a deep-rooted maternal instinct that she applied to almost everyone she knew.

He smiled at her. Her presence was comforting, he had to admit. "It might've been a raccoon,"

 _"Might've_ been? Well, at least it got out."

Will could hear in her voice that her suspicions matched his: that the "raccoon" had actually been in his head, nothing more. He dismissed the thought. "What are you doing out this late"

She shrugged, her hair shiny in the moonlight. "I thought I'd come over, make some noise, shoo away any predators at your door." She paused to examine the gap above the fireplace. "It looks like you're making _plenty_ of noise all by yourself."

Will tried to change the subject. "You've avoided being in a room alone with me essentially since I met you. You were smooth about it."

She laughed quietly. "Evidently not smooth enough,"

"And now you're making house calls?"

"Just a drive-by on my way home." She stopped, perhaps to collect her thoughts, and Will noticed that the distance between them had been considerably shortened. "Since you're not my patient."

"No. I'm not," he murmured, and suddenly he was kissing her. It was everything he'd imagined, her lips warm and solid under his.

She pulled back after a minute. "I'm confused."

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. "You need to stop thinking so much." He was about to press his lips to hers again, but halted when he heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs.

Charissa was there, looking much as she had the night he found her - her eyes wider than ever before, dark irises fixed on him and Alana. Upon making eye contact with him, she took a few tentative steps to the side before bolting for the back door, Winston at her heels. Will followed her with his eyes, wanting to follow her, yet unwilling to leave Alana.

"Who was that?" Alana didn't sound angry or relieved at being interrupted, simply curious.

"A woman I found."

"You _found_ her?"

He took a moment to explain the circumstances surrounding his discovery of the girl, shaking his head in disbelief when he finished. "Jack never told you? Or Hannibal?"

"They did not," she replied. She cocked her head, wise brown eyes boring into his. "And neither did you."  
He let out a grim laugh. "It just never came up, I guess."

"Right." She took a step back, and he didn't protest. "Will, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"What? Charissa staying here, or me kissing you?" He was surprised at his own forwardness. "I mean…"

"Either. Both." She sighed. "I just don't know if you need the added pressure of taking care of another human being. And as to us...I think it would be a mistake. The way I am isn't - isn't compatible with the way - "

"The way I am," he finished. She nodded.

"I wouldn't be good for you. You wouldn't be good for me, and I wouldn't be able to stop analyzing, because I have this professional curiosity about you and I am not your patient." She stopped mid-ramble to breath. "If I were my patient, my advice to me would be: don't do this. I have to follow my own advice."

"Right."

"And just...I would be careful with this girl, Will. You don't know who she is, where she's from - "

"She needs my help," he said firmly.

"She needs help," Alana corrected. "But you also have to consider whether you're the best person to help her, if you're capable."

"I'm...what, too unstable? Is that it?"

"No!" she protested. She looked for a moment as though she might try to reword it, to better explain her meaning, but in the end she simply continued, "I'm gonna go ahead and go now."

He nodded again.

"Goodbye, Will."


End file.
